


Vulnerable Affection

by astrodisea



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Mild Hurt/Comfort, basically skwisgaar having googoo eyes for toki, sort of love confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrodisea/pseuds/astrodisea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He whispered: “Skwis?”<br/>“Please don’ts tells me to stop.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vulnerable Affection

The concert ended with gore and bloodshed; a result of a series of unfortunate nonsensical accidents that, somehow, always transpired. Maimed, bruised, covered in their own blood, the fans still screamed and thrashed, pushing their way to the barrier, thriving at the edge of the stage, frenzied in their desperation for another song. Skwisgaar dropped his guitar to the stage floor, letting the amp squeal. The Klokateers would pack it properly, but he – a God – would not. Toki cast his instrument down, copying him as Skwisgaar knew he would. But then Toki defied Skwisgaar’s expectations. He turned. He exited the stage, putting the cheers behind him, moving through the arena toward the Dethbus without a glance at the lead guitarist.

Security, unblinking beneath black hoods, gravitated to Toki, killing the fans that tried to come into contact with the Norwegian. Skwisgaar knew Toki wasn’t in any danger. His eyes tracked the other man as he left.

He didn’t last two minutes backstage before following. Barely enough time to remove the corpse-paint.

The smaller guitarist sat by the fireplace, staring into its hungry flames. He neither moved nor blinked.

“Hey, Toki. Your guitar plays ams almost somesking wort’ listens to, tonight. Has you maybes beens getting more guitar lessons behinds my back?”

The only answer volunteered was a quiet: “No.”

“Then I has nosking to worry about?”

“I’m nots been getting any lessons.”

Brown hair fell across strikingly light eyes. Toki’s elbows rested on his knees, his breathing deep, even. At first, Skwisgaar had worried that by entering the lounge, he’d disrupted some secret, wrath-fuelled moment – he and the others of Dethklok had seen before the violent potential buried within their rhythm guitarist. The terror-inspiring manic rage that could be so easily prompted. But the apprehension Skwisgaar had felt upon entering the bus was quickly fading into that intrigue, that - gay – concern.

“Toki?” Tentative, he moved somewhat closer. Ultimately decided fuck it, and threw himself down on the sofa besides Toki, which caused the other man to flinch. At least some movement was better than none. “Ams you alright?”

“I keeps – thinking about my parents.”

“Abouts your dads, whats died of the big K?”

Light, almost imperceptible, Toki shook his head. Whether conscious or without realisation, he didn’t meet Skwisgaar’s eyes. Smears of the white makeup from the concert still remained. “Before that. When I was littles, in Norway. A lonely kid. Didn’ts evens have a guitar, then. Maybes that’s why my guitar plays not as goods as yours. Bets you can imagine it, huh?”

“I – amn’ts comfkeble with imagines not having a guitar.” Getting through adolescence without Thunderhorse, Skwisgaar thought, wouldn’t have been worth the effort. Imagining Toki so alone and helpless made him uneasy, but why exactly that was, he wasn’t certain. “Whats about ekucasion? You have friends at school, ja?”

Through gritted teeth, the Norwegian muttered: “What do you even bothers asks for? Nots like you woulds have wanted to be friends with me.”

“Toki. Dat amn’ts true.”

“Yeah, it is.” Petulant. Filled with humility of the most barbaric kind. Skwisgaar’s hand came to rest on Toki’s knee.

“Nej. I woulds haves been your best friend – don’t you gives me thats look, I woulds have. I woulds have held you in the dark corners whats your parents mades you hide in. I’d have protekseds you and keeps you safe and dieds for you, if we ams been born together instead of a country apart.”

“Oh yeah?” It was clear the other didn’t believe his words. And he wouldn’t. So long in the punishment hole had taught him, if nothing else, not to believe in other people. There were no heroes – only lashings. Lashings and the eternal fear that had followed him transatlantic and made its presence known with nightmares and shudders in the dark of the night. “Whats you say to me, then? We little kids. What’s little Skwisgaar say to little Toki?”

The answer to Toki’s question almost spilled over his lips, but the Swede had more pride than that. A confession here, while many things, would definitely not be brutal. So he covered over the moment: “Pft. Dat ams dildos and I t’inks you know it.”

“I wants hear whats you say!”

Skwisgaar volunteered nothing, and that silence was perhaps what prompted Toki to finally turn his head. Light blue eyes met Skwisgaar’s own, rough, relentless in their search for a response, and Toki looked – tired, though wide awake. Expectant, though deeply resigned. He was defined by contradictions, by these endless negating flaws that chased round and round within his head, until finally falling apart, leaving only murder and a childlike naivety. And it terrified Skwisgaar. But it also mesmerised him.

“Alrights,” the blonde murmured, leaning closer to Toki’s eyes. “I tells you. Don’t know why I ams, but. I’d have says, _Little Toki, we shoulds be best friends_.”

“And?”

“Ands… ands I am never haves a friend before, so I amn’ts entirelies sure what exactlies that means. But I knows I likes you. And if we ams friends, that means I maybes don’ts spends as much time at home with my goods-for-nosking fucksed up whore for a mother, and maybes your parents not so harsh on you no mores. Maybes… maybes I don’ts has to be so alone. And you seems so nice. And I don’ts wants to be without you, because yous the only porson whats puts up with me. Unders’ands me. So – I t’inks dat we shoulds stay togethers.”

The words came in an unstoppable rush, just as inevitable as the movement of his thin hands, grasping blindly for Toki’s own and clutching at them, digging in with his fingernails, chest too tight in the firelight.

“I means it, Toki.”

“Skwisgaar?”

“Ams not too lates,” he pleaded. “We stills cans do that. We shoulds rewrites our childhood into what ams somesking wort’ remembering. You. Me.”

Toki pulled his hands free from Skwisgaar’s flailing, hopeless heart. “We’re not kids any more, Skwisgaar.”

“Oh.” It cut. It burned. The words severed all of the lead guitarist’s hopes and dreams, but rather than causing his affections to dissipate, it instead fired an arrow that may as well have come from Cupid’s bow itself. Toki’s skin, and he wished for more contact. Toki’s lips and his mouth went dry with the need to meet them with his own. “Ja. I knows. I – I knows dat.”

That was when he noticed that Toki’s facial expression didn’t match his words. Where Skwisgaar felt despondency, Toki radiated with an innocent glee, eyes made bright, mouth curved in excitement. “But I always wanteds a brother.”

Skwisgaar almost choked. “A… brother?”

“Ja!”

The idea made him happy, that much was evident. Toki all but vibrated with the enthusiasm, and his hands renewed a nervous contact with Skwisgaar’s wrists, as he leaned in close, tendrils of faded brown hair slipping from his shoulders. So close to having the deep connection he’d always sought. The younger guitarist harboured a rapt need for approval from his elder, and in return, Skwisgaar had nursed and developed the avid inter-reliance between them.

“I – maybes I wants dat, too.” But he didn’t. The blonde needed more than that. “But Toki… we amn’ts brothers.”

“Skwisgaar? Whats…” Toki’s confidence shut down; then flared. The vulnerable benevolence of his eyes became curious confusion. Then it evolved into a frustrated hopelessness. “Why you says that?”

The Swede rushed: “You amn’t my brothers, Toki–”

“Then what – whats the points of any of this?! I thoughts– You say all these nice things to me, thens just,” he spat the words, leaving welts with his fingernails on Skwisgaar’s arms, then scratched when the blonde moved in, close, too close for the anger that was being stoked. “You…” Unblemished hands settled, soft and kind, against the other’s cheeks – soothing the fury, explaining the misunderstanding. In the red light of the flames, the guitar God glided into the warmth of his protégées arms. “Skwisgaar, whats you doing?”

Distance diminished, then vanished altogether. He wouldn’t have dared a move so bold, but Toki showed no resistance. The Norwegian’s breath quickened and in reply Skwisgaar breathed against his mouth: “I don’ts loves you like you’s my brother.”

Under Skwisgaar’s insistence, Toki’s back met the couch, and in Toki’s mind, Skwisgaar loomed – an eagle above its prey. But the reality of the situation was that the taller guitarist was so susceptible in his love that he had no chance of keeping himself defended. If Toki wanted to, he could kill him. But Toki didn’t want to. He whispered: “Skwis?”

“Please don’ts tells me to stop.”

And their lips met.

Cautious, almost disbelieving, Skwisgaar kissed him, releasing some unintelligible murmur at the sensation of Toki’s tongue against his own; the soft fur-like caress of his facial hair against pale skin. Hands found his waist and clutched for an anchor. The kiss was wet, warm, perfect, and a happy numbness set into Skwisgaar’s mouth and mind as he contentedly lost himself in the safety of Toki’s frantic embrace. Eyes closed, but worlds became wider. This was the piece of the puzzle that had for so long been absent, now located, and revered.

The Norwegian’s air had been stolen, and somewhere between gasp and splutter, he panted: “Skwis– Dids you reallies just–?”

“Kiss yous?” He lowered his face to Toki’s clothed shoulder, expecting rejection. He held onto the rhythm guitarist’s torso tighter, unable to bear it. He whispered in misery: “Ja. I did.”

Toki’s chest rose and fell rapidly. “Woulds you do it again?”

Mussed brown hair. Light eyes unfocused and darkened, but tracking the other’s every move, hungry and desiring. He made Skwisgaar breathless. He captivated him, enchanted him, offered him a glimpse of what he’d always wanted, but always been either too blind or too blasé to recognise.

Stunned, he answered: “Ja.”

Again, cautious mouths met, but the mood abruptly shifted to accommodate a change in pace. The fire burned brighter. Every touch became hotter. A passion ignited between them, unstoppable, and where Toki’s hands met Skwisgaar’s skin he came alive, finally waking from an extended slumber. His teeth caught on Toki’s lips. The younger of the two reacted with a noise that was more wounded animal than aroused man, and that noise resurfaced to meet the biting, loving kisses that were showered along his jaw and neck. Skwisgaar’s calloused fingertips hassled the ends of his shirt.

Frantic, he urged: “Takes it off.”

**Author's Note:**

> BUT WHERE IS THE SMUT? would be a more accurate title  
> literally first published fanfic by me ever & consequently am too nervous to attempt the sexy-times  
> sexy-times will be added in second chapter if i get brave or if someone collabs with me probably  
> so y'know... /hmu/  
> thanks for reading <3 baes need their fifth season


End file.
